


Keeping Hope

by ElizabethWinters



Category: Political RPF - UK 20th-21st c.
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Fluff, M/M, Sequel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-27
Updated: 2016-09-27
Packaged: 2018-08-18 05:56:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8151412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElizabethWinters/pseuds/ElizabethWinters
Summary: Three years after the events of Not Completely Cast Away, Nick returns with David to Penrhyn. There, David glimpses some of the life that Nick left behind, and learns the truths Nick has been hiding.





	

It was dark by the time David got back to the house in Notting Hill, the early, summer evening having finally wound down and the moon riding high in the cloudless sky. 

Initially, after he and Nick had moved to Oxfordshire, David had intended to sell the house in order to pay off their new mortgage, but after Nick sold the film rights to his book they had been able to afford both houses with relative ease. It was a situation that had proved advantageous as David was frequently in London during the week, his acceptance of a place in the House of Lords effectively tying him to the capital for as long as he continued to work in Parliament. 

When they had spoken by phone earlier in the day, Nick had told David he would be driving to London that evening, and so it came as no surprise when David saw Nick's Fiat parked in the driveway. He parked his own car in the space next to it and turned off the engine, reaching over to the passenger seat to grab his jacket before getting out and heading toward the front door, turning on the car's alarm as he went. 

Inside, the hallway light had been left on, but Nick had already gone to bed, so David trudged wearily up the stairs and to the bedroom, pushing open the door and smiling softly as he saw Nick curled up on the bed, asleep. He had missed Nick during the five days he had been alone, having driven down himself on Sunday and been kept in London longer than usual by a series of meetings he could not postpone, and resisted a sudden, powerful urge to wake Nick immediately with urgent touches of hands and mouth. Although Nick had been back for three years now, his battles with sleep – both in adjusting to a bed once again and in finding sleep once there – had been long-fought, and the victory was not quite assured, even now. The slightest disturbance could upset the delicate balance of Nick's sleep-wake cycle, undoing months of hard work. 

Contenting himself with a long moment of staring at his sleeping spouse, David padded silently to the en-suite bathroom and prepared for bed. 

As expected, when David returned to the bedroom and slid quietly beneath the covers, Nick stirred, one eye blinking open, then closed, and Nick turned and shifted, allowing David to curl close at his side. A sleepy kiss was placed on David's lips and a drowsy ‘hello’ said in his ear. David said nothing, but instead wrapped Nick in his arms and held him close. 

Some nights, when David arrived home after Nick was already in bed, that sleepy kiss would awaken passion enough to rouse Nick from sleep, and they would make tender, unhurried love to one another, afterwards falling into a blissful slumber. Other nights, like this one, Nick simply returned to sleep as soon as David was settled in bed. 

It still surprised David that, after all these years, he could never be sure which of these events might transpire. It seemed whenever he attempted to guess, the exact opposite would happen; he would arrive home expecting Nick to groan sleepily as he wrapped himself around David, and within minutes Nick would be grasping frantically at David's pyjamas. A memory of one of those nights, of Nick's slender body writhing desperately against him, left David longing to wake Nick. He tightened his arms around Nick and, with a sigh, kissed Nick on the forehead and closed his eyes. 

  


In the morning, after having slept surprisingly easily, David woke to the sound of his phone ringing on the bedside table. He groaned, grasping blindly for it as Nick stirred at his side, burrowing further beneath the duvet to block out the noise. His alarm, David realised as he held the phone in front of his face; he had forgot to turn it off. Quickly silencing the shrill beeping, David plonked the phone back where it had been and turned to Nick. 

‘Sorry,’ he said as Nick emerged from under the duvet. ‘Didn't mean to wake you.’ 

‘I was already awake.’ Nick leaned up and kissed David lightly. ‘Did you get in late?’ 

‘After midnight,’ David commented, pulling Nick forward for another kiss. ‘I missed you.’ 

‘Missed you, too,’ Nick whispered against David's lips. He pressed himself close against David's body, one hand caressing David's face while the other clung lightly to David's hip. It was a position so familiar to David, a consistency so complete, that for a moment he was transported by memory to the very first time Nick had held him this way; that night in Devon just seven days after Nick had returned from Penrhyn. 

During their two years of marriage, through all of its turbulence and triumph, through tenderness and tempers and tears, this simple touch from Nick had never failed to rouse in David such passion, such urgency and need, that the intensity of those feelings often left him trembling. He reached out, needing to touch Nick's body, needing to feel the weight, the certainty, of Nick in his arms, and kissed Nick again, whispering, ‘I love you.’ 

‘Always the charmer,’ Nick murmured, his smile lighting the boyish features of his face, crinkling the outer corners of his eyes. ‘I love you.’ 

David hugged Nick close, letting his hands roam lazily over the bare skin of Nick's back and arms, deliberately teasing himself by not indulging his building desire to do more. 

‘How was the drive down?’ he asked. 

‘The traffic was awful,’ Nick answered. ‘I wish I'd taken the train.’ 

‘You hate the train.’ 

‘I hate travelling at all,’ Nick said, his smile quirking into one of wry amusement. A familiar frown passed across his features, but did not stay, his expression transforming once again into simple happiness. 

‘Why did you, then?’ David asked. He kissed Nick's forehead tenderly. 

‘Catherine.’ 

Nick's one word answer was explanation enough. Catherine Percer was Nick's publicist. A thin, middle-aged woman whose overly persistent manner came close to bullying, and was only tolerable because of her shrewd business instinct. The daughter of a military man, David often thought Catherine would have been better suited to the hard voiced, hard line career of a drill sergeant, but he could not fault her dogged insistence in pushing Nick's interests. She had managed all of Nick's public appearances, and had proven herself a tough negotiator when Nick had sold the film rights to his book. 

‘They still want me to walk the red carpet for the film,’ Nick explained, and then added, a note of wariness in his voice, ‘And you.’ 

‘Oh,’ David uttered in surprise. He knew Nick was involved in a long-running dispute with Dreamworks, who were insistent, despite Nick's resolute refusal, they wanted Nick to attend the première of Keeping Hope. The information they also wanted David there, however, was completely new. 

‘They're concerned if both of us are not there then it will seem as if we are snubbing the film.’ 

‘Ridiculous,’ David commented. ‘Everyone knows you don't like public appearances.’ 

‘Apparently that doesn't matter,’ Nick answered, his voice sounding both irritated and stressed. ‘They want us there anyway.’ 

‘Can't Catherine get you out of it?’ 

‘She's tried,’ Nick sighed. ‘But they've started to pull contract clauses, with some pretty wild interpretations, I might add, and pile on the pressure. She wants to meet with me and discuss options.’ 

‘And those are?’ 

‘At this point: additional financial incentives for me to attend, and possibly a contract breach case if I still refuse.’ 

‘They're that desperate?’ David asked, beginning to feel somewhat stressed himself. He would not have minded doing the red carpet bit if Nick had asked; the media attention he could handle. 

After he and Nick had wed, the fuss the media kicked up had lasted for months, with paparazzi hounding both of them, wherever they went, until they had moved out of London. What David did not like was Nick being forced into the public eye again, especially when Nick had made it clear from the start he did not want that. 

In the two years since Nick's book had been published, he had made one television appearance, in a documentary commissioned by the BBC, and had attended three ticketed book talks at a London Waterstones, the minimum number he had agreed to in his publishing deal. All of those had been in the six months following the release. Since then, after they had moved, Nick had happily settled into a routine far removed from the hectic, spotlight-heavy one he had known before Penrhyn. David knew that, at least in the beginning, a lot of Nick's resistance had come from his time spent in isolation and the subsequent social anxiety. Nowadays, and even though the anxiety was still sometimes problematic, Nick maintained his aversion of publicity simply because he no longer wanted that kind of lifestyle. 

‘Oh, that reminds me,’ Nick said, making David realise he had missed Nick's reply. ‘Simon has invited us to dinner tonight.’ 

‘Yes, I know,’ David replied. ‘He called me yesterday evening, said he had invited a few others.’ 

‘Duncan and Jo, probably.’ Nick unwrapped himself from David's embrace and threw back the covers, getting to his feet. ‘They're still showing Tess off to everyone.’ 

‘Still?’ David laughed, watching as Nick walked to the bathroom, pushing the door open wide. ‘How old is she now?’ 

‘Ten weeks.’ 

‘Ten weeks,’ David echoed quietly. Had it really been that short a time since Nick was last in London? Usually Nick visited only two or three times a year, but here they were in June and Nick had already driven down four times. David wondered if Nick was making progress in better dealing with the stress of travelling – perhaps Arthur had been focusing on that in their recent sessions. 

Nick emerged from the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his hips, and walked to the wardrobe, where he kept a few changes of clothes stored for his infrequent visits. He flicked through them, quickly selecting a smart pair of trousers and a white shirt; no tie, Nick never wore one any more. 

‘Are my good shoes still downstairs?’ he asked distractedly. 

‘Should be,’ David replied, sighing internally as he realised Nick did not intend to return to bed. ‘Unless you took them home last time you were here.’ 

‘Don't think I did,’ Nick mumbled, beginning to move things this way and that within the wardrobe. David laughed to himself as he watched Nick leave devastation in his wake. Nick's side of the wardrobe always resembled that of a teenager rather than a man in his fifties, with rumpled clothes left in untidy piles and shirts half-falling from hangers. 

At first David had industriously tidied and folded Nick's clothes, leaving them neatly arranged for when Nick visited, but whenever Nick did visit he left everything in disarray again, and after a while David had given up, putting Nick's lack of care down to the temporary nature of his presence in the house. Nick had not said anything, but David knew Nick no longer considered the Notting Hill house as home. 

David got up. Home or not, and David had to admit lately he himself tended to think of the house more as an exceptionally comfortable hotel, he had always been something of a neat-freak. He made the bed as Nick dumped his _good shoes_ unceremoniously at the foot of the wardrobe and went back to the bathroom to shower. 

Not wanting to dwell on Nick's unusually rushed manner, or his own sharply felt desire, David opened his own side of the wardrobe and began to flick through the many suits he kept there, choosing, with much more thought than Nick had, one an elegant shade of dark blue, along with a white shirt and a navy blue tie covered with fine white dots. He had several meetings today, in spite of it being a Saturday, and could not dress as casually as he usually would have of a weekend. 

In the bathroom, as Nick showered, David began to brush his teeth, casting furtive glances at the frosted glass of the shower cubicle. He wondered idly, as he watched the outline of Nick's body, how long Nick intended to remain in London. Would he drive back tomorrow morning or would he stay the week? 

Recently, David had begun to feel the almost constant separation was putting a strain on his and Nick's relationship. There was no specific reason for him to feel that way, only a thought deep inside that there was an invisible distance growing between them, too much familiarity at being apart. 

For the past year Nick had been making a home for himself in Oxfordshire; spending time with neighbours, making friends, joining the local community garden project. All of his activities were designed to strengthen his ties to the house and the life he had there, whereas David, spending four days a week in London, had little to no time to do the same. He more and more felt as though he was living two separate lives, with no way to bring them together, to marry them into something he could feel happy with. 

This growing discontent with their situation hung heavily in David's heart, often playing on his mind during the time he spent away from home. He knew Nick felt the same way, though neither of them had spoken of it; he knew the meaning of the expression Nick wore every time David left on Sunday night, could read it as perfectly as if Nick had spoken the accompanying thought: _I wish you didn't have to go._

The fact Nick did not say anything did not stop David from feeling his heart clench every time he saw the sadness in Nick's eyes. Even after three years, after countless therapy sessions with Arthur, Nick still had an aversion to being alone, and still kept part of himself locked away in a place David could not reach. Sometimes it was that, more than anything else, which worried David – that he knew there were things Nick still felt he could not talk about. 

David rinsed his toothbrush and then his mouth, opening the bathroom cabinet to get his razor as Nick slid back the glass shower panel, stepped onto the bathroom mat, and grabbed his towel from the rail by his side. He wrapped it around himself and then took a few steps forward, putting his arms around David's waist and kissing the back of his neck. 

‘Shower's free.’ 

‘Mm,’ David hummed, turning in Nick's arms so he could return the embrace, and trying to hide his unhappy expression. He thought he had succeeded until Nick tilted his head inquisitively, stroking David's back through the fabric of his pyjama top. 

‘You okay?’ Nick asked, smiling kindly. 

‘I'm fine,’ David answered. He pulled Nick closer, searching for a way to tell Nick what was troubling him without sounding like a needy teenager. ‘I've missed you, this week has seemed to last a long time.’ 

‘I missed you, too,’ Nick said softly, kissing David on the cheek. ‘We seem to spend a lot of time apart at the moment.’ 

‘I'm sorry.’ 

‘You have nothing to be sorry for,’ Nick reassured him, smiling affectionately. ‘It's as much my fault as yours.’ 

‘I'm the one who's never at home,’ David huffed. ‘I'm always busy with-’ 

‘You not being at home is only half of the equation,’ Nick interrupted. He leaned back, regarding David in a forthright manner. ‘As I said, it's as much my fault as yours, I should spend more time here with you.’ 

‘You are busy with the community garden, I know how important it is to you.’ 

‘Nothing is more important to me than our marriage, David,’ Nick said, sighing, obviously as frustrated by their situation as David was. ‘I-I think after all the press attention I became a little, a little afraid of being here, but I shouldn't have let that get in the way of spending time with you, and I'm going to make more of an effort from now on.’ 

‘Nice speech,’ David chuckled. Nick grinned at him. ‘Did Arthur give you that in one of his many lectures?’ 

‘He certainly did not,’ Nick laughed, shaking his head. ‘You know as well as I do he gave up lecturing me about you after we got married.’ 

‘Oh,’ David said playfully, ‘and what does he lecture you about now?’ 

Nick smiled enigmatically, but David saw a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes and did not press for an answer. They had spoken about what Nick's therapy sessions involved but Nick never went into much detail, mostly it concerned Nick's continued anxiety over large social gatherings and using any kind of public transport, though there were other things Nick discussed with his therapist he would not talk to David about; David knew most, if not all, of them were directly related to Penrhyn and the time Nick had spent on the island. 

In the beginning, David had been surprised Nick had remained in therapy for as long as this. Somehow he had got the idea that after a few months Nick would stop seeing Arthur as regularly, or even stop seeing him at all; he had not expected that three years after Nick had returned from Penrhyn he would still be meeting with his therapist on a weekly basis. It highlighted to David that he really did have very little understanding of the complexities of mental health, up to that point at least. Of course the problems associated with a trauma on the scale of that which Nick had been through could not be fixed in a time period of weeks or months, David understood that now, having watched Nick struggle with countless issues caused by his almost six year period of total isolation, from the serious and still persistent sleep problems to more mundane concerns like the fact that Nick still sometimes retreated into his headphones and listened to the sounds of the ocean to calm himself if he was feeling stressed. 

The change in Nick's character was less apparent now than it had been when he had first stayed at Chequers, gone was the near constant nervousness and the abrupt mood swings David had grown used to in the early days of their relationship. The fright at loud noises had also faded, with Arthur's help, and Nick no longer felt the need to sleep on the floor or walk around barefoot. 

‘How will you see Arthur if you are here?’ David asked, thinking Nick missing sessions probably would not be approved of. 

‘I'll drive,’ Nick answered, his wariness vanishing as David changed the subject. ‘Or take the train, he has been going on about that recently, says it's one of the last things we need to work on.’ 

‘Surely not the train?’ David grinned. ‘He truly is horrible to you.’ 

‘I'll tell him you said that,’ Nick said with a laugh, nuzzling his face against David's neck for a few moments before stepping away and giving David a look of regret. ‘If I didn't have to meet Catherine in less than an hour, and if she wouldn't give me a worse lecture than Arthur ever has if I were late! This was not, _not_ how I wanted to spend Saturday morning. There was a lot less getting dressed and a lot more of you in my version.’ 

‘Sounds very similar to what I would have liked.’ David smiled and leaned forward to give Nick one last quick kiss. 

‘I'm surprised you didn't jump me as soon as you got in last night,’ Nick chuckled as he left the bathroom. David turned back to the mirror with a short laugh, inspecting his cheeks and chin before squirting some shaving foam into his palm. 

‘I thought I had better let you sleep,’ he commented. 

‘What was that?’ Nick's voice called back a few seconds later. 

‘I said,’ David repeated, raising his voice, ‘I thought I had better let you sleep.’ 

There was no answer, but David heard Nick give another low chuckle, followed by the sound of a drawer being opened and then closed. David lathered his face with the shaving foam and began to shave. He was almost finished when Nick returned to the bathroom, mostly dressed but with his shirt hanging open, and leaned past David to get the deodorant from on top of the cabinet. 

‘I'm going to be late,’ Nick said in a stressed voice. ‘Just checked the traffic report; Edgware Road is at a standstill.’ 

‘Go through the backstreets?’ David suggested, rinsing his razor in the sink and towelling his face dry. 

‘They'll be just as bad as people try to avoid the traffic,’ Nick answered, he quickly used the can of Lynx he was holding before putting it back and grabbing his toothbrush from the cup by the sink. ‘I'll have to take the tube.’ 

‘It won't be so busy on a Saturday.’ 

‘I suppose not,’ Nick sighed. As he started to brush his teeth, Nick reached out his hand and idly brushed a spot of shaving foam from David's ear, rinsing his finger clean under the still running tap before inspecting the other side of David's face. Evidently there were no similar spots there because Nick nodded in approval and smiled around the handle of his toothbrush, white foam gathering at the corners of his mouth, looking both totally adorable and absolutely ridiculous. 

‘I can go with you on the tube if you like?’ David offered as Nick rinsed his mouth and wiped it with a flannel. ‘If you don't want to go on your own.’ 

‘No, no, I'll be fine,’ Nick responded, buttoning his shirt. ‘I should go alone. Arthur says it will be helpful.’ 

‘He's really pushing you on that, isn't he?’ David asked. 

‘Yes,’ Nick answered. ‘He wants me to finish therapy this year, so he's pushing me on a couple of things right now.’ 

‘Finish?’ David raised his eyebrows in surprise. ‘Really?’ 

‘Yes, finish,’ Nick smiled, nodding lightly. He looked pleased and proud. ‘He says it's time, that I'm ready, ready to live without the safety net.’ 

‘How do you feel about it?’ 

‘I'm pleased, obviously I'm delighted,’ Nick said, a small frown appeared and his smile faltered a little. ‘To be honest, David, I'm scared. I'm worried that I won't be able to cut it without him to talk sense to me. 

‘Arthur obviously thinks you can,’ David said, drawing Nick forward and stroking his neck affectionately. ‘I think you can. You know you're stronger than you give yourself credit for, you always have been.’ 

‘I love you, David,’ Nick whispered, wrapping his arms around David's shoulders. ‘I know I've not been, not always been easy to live with-’ 

‘Nonsense.’ 

‘No, no,’ Nick insisted. ‘I know at times I've made things difficult, I know you have been frustrated, even angry, with me.’ Nick broke off, sighing and taking a step backwards to look David directly in the eyes. ‘There are so many things I haven't told you, things that I should have told you a long time ago.’ 

‘I said I would wait,’ David told him, smiling softly. ‘For as long as you needed, until you are ready.’ 

‘I think I am,’ Nick said. ‘My last four sessions with Arthur have been- I want to tell you and he has been helping me with the worst thing, the one that- But now is hardly the time! Are you going to be busy this afternoon?’ 

‘I have meetings all day,’ David said regretfully. 

‘Still going over Lords reform?’ 

‘Trying to muster enough support to get it past the rebels.’ 

This was the second time a bill for House of Lords reform had been prepared. The first, in 2012, while Nick had been on Penrhyn, had been dropped after facing opposition from both Labour and the Conservatives. The latest attempt had made it through the Commons but was now being held up as it was debated in the Lords. Whether it would pass or not was difficult to predict. 

‘I'm sure you will get it through this time,’ Nick said. He flexed his fingers on David's shoulder. ‘I have to run, David. Can we find some time to talk later? Before the party, perhaps?’ 

‘I'll try to be finished by six.’ 

‘Oh good,’ Nick smiled. ‘That gives me a few hours to get ready. Party starts at eight.’ 

‘You'd think he would have them earlier now he's not leading the Lib Dems any more,’ David chuckled. 

‘You know Simon,’ Nick grinned, shaking his head. ‘Must dash. I'll see you this evening.’ 

‘Say hi to Catherine for me.’ 

  


After Nick had left, David took a shower and got dressed. He was preoccupied by what Nick had told him about being ready to talk through some of the things they had thus far avoided concerning Penrhyn. David had never really minded Nick's reluctance to speak about what happened there; he was worried over it, thinking of it as the last barrier that Nick had, but knew that Nick would find a way to cross that when he was able. Knowing that Nick had used his recent sessions with Arthur to broach the subject, and the knowledge that Nick was soon to stop seeing his therapist, made David realise just how far Nick had progressed towards completely recovering from everything that had happened to him. 

Two years ago, when Nick's book about Penrhyn had been published, David had bought a copy in secret and read it with growing fascination, not only for what was in it, but also for the things that had been deliberately left out. There was no mention of the day of the plane crash, nothing about David until the very end - and then only a brief mention. A lot of the detail was in how Nick found food and water, and the things he had done to keep himself occupied. Most tellingly of all, Nick had made no mention of the scar on his chest or what had happened to his mood after the day he injured himself. 

In the years since his return, Nick had only told Arthur the full details of his experiences on Penrhyn. Even David had only limited knowledge. 

Nick wanting to tell him the rest left David wondering what exactly he was going to say. He knew Nick had kept the worst of it to himself, as if he was afraid of how David would react, or afraid of something else, something inside himself. 

Through the course of the day, David found himself unable to properly concentrate. He funmbled his way through a meeting with another Conservative Lord who was supporting the Lords Reform Bill, before eating a hasty lunch and making his way to George Osborne's office in 30 Millbank, where George, now the chief election stratagist rather than chancellor, wanted to discuss David's role in the upcoming 2020 elections. 

‘David,’ George greeted him warmly, rising from his chair and holding out his hand. ‘Good to see you. How are you? How's Nick?’ 

‘We're fine,’ David said, shaking George's hand and then sitting down. 

‘Is he still in Oxford?’ George asked conversationally. 

‘No, he drove down yesterday,’ David replied. ‘Had to meet with Catherine Percer.’ 

‘About the première, I suppose. What is it, two weeks away now?’ 

David explained the situation, George listening sympathetically and offering helpful suggestions. 

Their friendship was not as close as it had once been, but was better than two years earlier when David and Nick had married. George had refused to attend the wedding, telling David bluntly that he thought it was a mistake. They had not spoken for six months. 

It had hurt David to know that the man who had until then been a dear friend did not support his decision to marry the man he loved. They had rowed bitterly when David asked George to be his best man for the ceremony, and George had stormed out after telling David that the marriage would not last six months and not to come crying to him when it all went wrong. 

Two years on, George was more accepting, but the friendship they shared had never fully recovered. Even though George had apologised for his words some eight months earlier, things between the two of them were still stilted. 

‘Anyway, David,’ George said when he had given a final, condemning opinion of Dreamworks. ‘About why you're here.’ 

‘Why do I get the feeling I'm not going to like this?’ David asked. George gave a sly grin. 

‘Because you're not stupid,’ George answered. He tapped his ball point pen on a stack of papers in front of him. ‘How would you feel about being our poster boy for the gay vote?’ 

‘I'm hardly a boy,’ David responded gruffly, shooting a hard look in George's direction. 

‘No,’ George agreed. He leaned back in his chair, smiling a little smugly. ‘You are Lord Cameron, former prime minister and leader of the Conservatives, who two years ago married a man who was once your political rival.’ 

‘And that's the angle, is it?’ David asked testily. ‘Using my marriage as political currency?’ 

‘It wouldn't be like that, David.’ 

‘Wouldn't it?’ 

‘No,’ George insisted adamantly. ‘We want you to do a couple of interviews, that's all. Perhaps a poster.’ 

‘We?’ David questioned, unconvinced by George's assurances. 

‘All right, Boris,’ George sighed. ‘Boris wants you.’ 

‘That's absolutely terrifying,’ David joked uncomfortably, shifting position. ‘Did he say why? Or is this another of his not-so-brilliant ideas to endear us to the population?’ 

George shrugged, sighing again, a weary look on his face. Strategising for the election was a job that had been made that much harder when Boris had taken over as leader of the Conservatives after David had stood down. After a series of typically Boris comments in recent months, the tolerance of the public to the bumbling politician had begun to fade, and it was looking increasingly likely that there would be another leadership election within a year. 

‘You know I have to talk it over with Nick,’ David said when George remained silent. 

‘I know,’ George answered. ‘I didn't expect you to agree right away.’ 

‘Do you have a timetable in mind?’ 

‘Nothing this year,’ George said. ‘We were looking at next March, if you agree. You'll be fighting for your Lords seat at the same time, provided the Bill goes through.’ 

‘I'll let you know soon, then,’ David told him, glancing at the clock on the wall and getting to his feet. ‘I have to get going, I'll call you next week.’ 

‘Thank you,’ George said politely, shaking David's hand. ‘Oh,’ he added, seeming to only just think of it. ‘Ask Nick if he can get me tickets to the première.’ 


End file.
